


Worst Idea I've Ever Had?

by the_misfortune_teller



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Response to 308, pre-slash i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misfortune_teller/pseuds/the_misfortune_teller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So what, are you just gonna ask Derek about the girl he fell in love with and then killed?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“If I have to, yeah…I will," Stiles swallows hard and tries to blink back the tears that have been threatening to fall for some time now. Crying in front of Peter was definitely something he hadn’t wanted to do, but crying in front of Cora doesn’t seem much better right now.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>~</b>
    <br/></p>
</div>Just a litte something I wrote way back in response to 3.08 "Visionary".
            </blockquote>





	Worst Idea I've Ever Had?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back, right after 3.09 aired because I was so annoyed we never got to see if Stiles did go and speak to Derek or not. It's been up on my tumblr for a while but thought I'd put it up on here too.
> 
> Enjoy.

“So what, are you just gonna ask Derek about the girl he fell in love with and then killed?"

“If I have to, yeah…I will," Stiles swallows hard and tries to blink back the tears that have been threatening to fall for some time now. Crying in front of Peter was definitely something he hadn’t wanted to do, but crying in front of Cora doesn’t seem much better right now.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Cora sighs, pushing off the steps and crossing to the couch to retrieve her hoodie.

“Worst one I’ve had in a while,” Stiles agrees with a shrug, taking advantage of Cora’s momentary distraction to scrub at his eyes with his shirt sleeves. He drops his hands quickly when she turns around again and leans against a pillar.

“When you ask him,” She starts, hugging her arms tightly as she stares at him for a few seconds too long, “when you ask him and he asks you why, do him a favour and tell him the real reason.”

“What real reason?”

She shoots him an almost sympathetic smile, probably the kindest smile he’s ever received from any member of the Hale family since they snarked their way into his life, before continuing. “He’s not stupid. And neither am I. If you start talking to him about Scott, or your friend, or sacrifices and Deaton, he’s...he’s not interested in that, OK? Tell him the real reason.”

“Real reason,” Stiles repeats as he slowly gets to his feet and palms his car keys, keeping his gaze lowered.

“Trust me,” Cora says with a confident nod. Stiles snorts and turns away, jogging quickly down the stairs without bothering to say goodbye. He manages to make it to the Jeep before he starts crying, crying over the idea of Derek being anyone other than the surly, damaged asshole he’s grown accustomed to, crying at Derek having been fifteen years old and having to make _that_ decision, never mind having to live with that for the rest of his life.

Finally, after a long few minutes, he starts the car and drives out of the shadowy parking lot, wishing like hell that he knew where Derek was right now. He’s about to head off onto the turning that’ll take him home when Peter’s words start running through his mind again and he hurriedly pulls over to the side of the road as he tries to remember where Peter had told them Derek used to go with – with the girl.

**::**

“How’d you find me?” Derek murmurs when Stiles gingerly steps through the doorway and into the musty dark of the distillery. Stiles doesn’t reply but stares down at the filthy floor; it’s dark in the distillery, but not dark enough that he misses what looks like old bloodstains marking the concrete. He’s certainly not ready to look at the huge spiral in the corrugated iron wall, wonders if Derek knows who put it there or why. “Stiles,” Derek snaps, his voice too loud in the quiet space.

“Um.”

“Why did you come here?” Derek asks, getting to his feet and crossing his arms defensively. Even in the low light, he can see the angry, closed off look on Derek’s face that he’s so used to and worries at his bottom lip as he scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the floor.

“Peter told me,” He blurts out suddenly, risking a glance at Derek. Derek, who’s gone from looking angry to seriously murderous, “Me and Cora. Both of us. Um.”

“And what?” Derek snaps, “You thought you’d come and tell me how I’m a terrible person? Have your father arrest me again? What Stiles? What do you want?”

“I –” Stiles starts, taking a step back in the face of Derek’s anger. “No. Jesus, no. I don’t think – dude, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I just – I don’t believe Peter. God. Do you really think I’d believe anything that came out of Peter’s mouth? Why would anyone believe anything Peter says ever?”

As soon as he says it, he realises it was the wrong thing to say, watching as Derek’s frown deepens and his jaw tightens.

“I believed him,” Derek hisses through gritted teeth.

“I – that’s not how I meant it to come out.”

“What do you want, Stiles? Why are you here? You don’t care.”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times as he tries to think of all the ways he could explain what he’s doing in a creepy abandoned building with an emotionally damaged alpha werewolf, thinks of all the things he could have been doing tonight instead as he tries not to think about Cora and the smug smile on her face as she’d told him to tell Derek the _real reason_. Stupid Hales.

“I care, OK?” He whispers, mimicking Derek and folding his arms across his chest. He feels suddenly, overwhelmingly vulnerable and wishes he’d thought his ‘go find Derek’ plan all the way through. Derek makes a snorting noise and turns his back on him, the tension in his shoulders obvious from where Stiles is standing. “You can think what you like, you know. About me. But I do. I care.”

“You’re curious you mean,” Derek snaps, shooting an angry glare over his shoulder. “You act like I’m this riddle you’ve got to solve, or that you’ve got to fix me or something. Well guess what? You can’t. You’re not going to fix me, Stiles.”

“I do not think that,” Stiles replies, feeling his temper starting to flare as he scowls at Derek’s shoulders. “I don’t think you need fixing or –” he pauses briefly when he thinks he hears Derek mumble something, waiting for him to repeat himself. When he doesn’t, he takes a deep breath and continues. “I don’t think you’re a broken person, and I don’t think – I don’t think Peter told us the truth and I don’t think what happened to that girl is as straightforward as he made it sound.”

“Paige,” Derek says in an undertone. “Her name was Paige.” His voice is so shaky that Stiles wonders if this is the first time he’s actually said her name aloud since, well, since however long ago it was she died.

“Tell me about her,” He asks quietly as he takes a tentative step towards Derek. “Please?”

“Why?”

“Why?” Stiles repeats, swallowing nervously when Derek turns around and raises an eyebrow when he sees him standing closer. “Have you ever talked to anyone about it – about her? You should talk to someone.”

“To you, you mean?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t understand why you want me to talk to you,” Derek huffs, shrugging his shoulders as he glares at Stiles. “You don’t – we’re not friends.”

“Well, no,” Stiles sighs, “but then you don’t really have any friends, do you?” He can’t seem to stop himself from saying it and wishes he had when he sees the hurt look on Derek’s face and plows on. “But dude, we’re kind of maybe like friends, right? I mean, I –” He takes another deep breath; somehow in his head, talking to Derek had seemed like an easy thing to do, like the sensible thing to do and wonders if there’s some way he can get out of this with his pride still intact. “Look. I don’t really know how to do this sort of thing, and I’m pretty sure this is the most inappropriate time to tell you this, but um, your terrifying sister told me to be honest with you, OK? And well, I uh, I like you.”

That doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say either and Derek bristles, taking a step back from him, like he’s worried Stiles is going to _do_ something.

“I’m not telling you because I want anything from you. Definitely not expecting anything from you,” he mutters, glancing at Derek, “I just – dude, I kind of want to be there for you. For you. Because I think maybe you need someone to be. And I get that I’m probably the last person in the world you want to talk to or anything but I sort of needed to tell you that and I’m thinking maybe now I should just go away.”

“Stiles –” Derek starts.

“It’s fine, I’m – it’s OK, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you to,” Derek tells him quietly, moving quickly and wrapping his hand gently around Stiles’ wrist. “Please?”

Stiles nods slowly, lets Derek pull him close and tries not to act too surprised when he’s pulled into a hug, can’t stifle the small gasp of surprise when he realises Derek is crying, sobbing silently against his shoulder just tightens his hold on his waist and wonders to himself if he’ll ever be able to let go.

**::**

They end up sitting face to face on a stack of old pallets, Stiles’ legs draped carefully over Derek’s own as he quietly tell him everything. Stiles keeps quiet while Derek talks despite how much he wants to stop him and grab hold of him, shake him and tell him it wasn’t his fault, that Paige wasn’t his fault, because it’s amazing that Derek’s even telling him anything at all and he doesn’t want to interrupt him and say the wrong thing now. Derek tells him things about Kate Argent that make him want to be suddenly, violently sick, even more so when he hears the resigned, matter of fact tone of his voice that makes him think Derek hasn’t even come close to dealing with that particular trauma. He far more shyly tells Stiles things about Ms Blake, things that make Stiles never want to have to go to English class and look at her again. And at the end of it all, Stiles just puts his arms around Derek’s shoulders and pulls him close, feeling tears prick at his own eyes when Derek fists his hands in the back of his shirt and starts to cry again, huge, wracking sobs that shake his whole body. Eventually, Derek goes quiet, and Stiles strokes his back through his shirt until he sits upright and gives him a watery smile.

“Your sister threatened to punch me,” Stiles mumbles when Derek disentangles himself, scrubbing his hands roughly over his face.

Derek gives a quiet huff of laughter and gently pushes Stiles’ legs away from his own. “What were you doing to piss her off?”

“I was – wait, what?” Stiles asks incredulously as he hops off the pallets. “Why would you assume _I_ was pissing _her_ off?”

“I’ve met you,” Derek replies with a hint of a smile, nudging Stiles’ shoulder with his own.

Stiles goes along with it, not wanting to say the wrong thing and risk upsetting whatever this fragile new thing is between them, doesn’t want to be the one that makes Derek hurt again. He glances at his watch, raising an eyebrow when he sees the time, and silently thanks all the gods he can think of for the fact that his dad is on a night shift tonight and will have no idea that he’s been hanging out in abandoned buildings all night. Hanging out with an older guy who’s age he still isn’t sure of, who he might have kind of admitted he likes, and who might have kind of implied that he wouldn’t be entirely uninterested in talking about _that_ some more at some point in the future.

“Do you – um, I didn’t see that hideous car you’re driving now anywhere. Do you want a ride someplace?”

“Not the loft,” Derek replies hurriedly. “I can’t – I don’t want to go back there yet.”

“Yeah, OK,” Stiles nods as he leads Derek towards the Jeep. “I get that. It’s, um, it’s not that early in the morning anymore. I could drive you to the school. You know. If you want to wait around and see –” He trails off and picks at a rust spot on the side of the car because it’s easier than looking at Derek right now. He can’t quite seem to bring himself to say Ms Blake’s name out loud. He wonders if he’s scared to say her name aloud in case Derek suddenly realises he’s making a huge mistake standing here with him.

“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, his tone gentle as he reaches out and covers Stiles’ hand with his own, pulling it away from the Jeep and lacing their fingers together.

“My dad’s working,” Stiles admits, hoping against hope that that statement doesn’t sound like some sort of weak come on to Derek. “Um, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s OK. I’d – I’d like that,” Derek whispers, giving Stiles’ fingers a quick squeeze before letting go and heading round to the far side of the Jeep, waiting patiently for Stiles to unlock it.

He pulls away from the distillery, the sky starting to lighten behind them as he tries not to stare at Derek, tries to keep his attention on the road. He’s not naive enough to think that admitting to Derek that he might like him as more than a friend is going to mean anything is ever actually going to happen between them, definitely isn’t naive or narcissistic enough to think that he’ll suddenly _fix_ Derek. He’s content just to be grateful that Derek’s even trusting him enough to talk to him about any of this.

When he next looks over at Derek, he’s fallen asleep, his forehead pressed against the Jeep’s window, looking more relaxed than Stiles has ever seen and Stiles smiles to himself, wondering if he can keep driving around, wanting nothing more than to let Derek keep that expression on his face for as long as possible. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr, yo](http://the-misfortune-teller.tumblr.com/)


End file.
